


Take Me to Church

by viatorix



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viatorix/pseuds/viatorix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samson wants something he can't have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me to Church

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kink Meme.

He kept replaying the memory of the slight pull of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes as she realised that she had him, over and over in his head. Maker, those eyes were something to behold; the way they held him all the way through his defeat. He had fought, all raw lyrium strength, blood and metal; but she had _danced._ Practised, yet effortless as she and hers cut down his forces, his own now more beast than men. And when she had stood above him, victorious, he had trembled, but not with fear. Deep-seated want had wormed itself into his gut, mutating the heady curiosity that had sat there before, soft and tempting.

The vision of her now kept him warm, within the confines of his cold wooden prison, as it bumped along the unkempt road that wound its way through the mountains to the Inquisition’s fortress of Skyhold. They would chain him, and drag him before her, and he would once again be under her scrutiny. She could kill him, she probably would, but in those moments that he would kneel before her, stripped bare of everything he was, Samson didn’t think he would mind. The Inquisitor could exile him, and he would walk in the direction she pointed. The Inquisitor could ask for his head, and the Templar would offer her his neck.

The warmth from his thoughts slipped down to pool in Samson’s groin, and he hissed between his teeth, his cock giving a small twitch. What would it be like, he wondered, to be pliant under that Inquisitor’s hands? Would she be rough, and pull his hair? Force his head in between her legs? Or would she be gentle, loving; all soft caresses, and tender words? Samson didn’t think he could handle the latter, not after the life he had lead, so he settled for the former, and felt his cock strain against the leather of his breeches.

The Inquisition’s soldiers had chained his wrists to the sides of the wooden cart, but had given him enough leeway that with a little leverage, he could pick at the laces of his trousers and pull his cock free. Samson let out a soft groan as he swiped his thumb over the head. It been awhile since he had, had the time alone for this. He welcomed the image of the Inquisitor in his mind, drew himself inward until he could no longer hear the soft murmur of voices outside. The cart was silent, and when he willed it, she was with him; naked as the day she was born, lean muscle coiled as she bent over him, her hair free and loose about her shoulders. To the inquisitor, Samson was no more than an insect, and her illusion grabbed his jaw viciously, forcing their eyes to meet. He shuddered as he imagined her hand sliding south, raking her nails over his bony flesh to grip and twist his cock, his own hand mirroring the action of hers. Samson closed his eyes, feeling the phantom wisps of breath in his ear, the harsh bites at his neck. If they were real, they would be stark red, and impossible to hide. Everyone would know the Inquisitor’s claim, and the Templar rolled his hips and pumped his hand at the thought. Maker, what Samson would give to see the look on the faces of those Chantry fucks, when they saw him and realised the Inquisitor had taken him. That someone as wretched as him had shared her bed, if only for a night.

“Bed? You think far too above yourself, Templar” the image of her growled, wrenching his head back by his hair. “Why would I let a creature like you, lay in my fine sheets? I would have you on your knees.”

Samson pumped his cock harder at her words, massaging the head as she hissed in his ear. “That’s what Templars do, yes? Always on your knees, praying, and sucking someone’s cock. I would bet you’ve done more than your fair share of that, even outside the Order.” The Inquisitor licked the shell of his ear, nibbling the fine skin, and Samson groaned, long and probably far too loud. He could feel the pressure building and his breaths became shuddering rasps.

“Would you like to touch me, Samson?” She asked as she lightly brushed a hand over one of her breasts, as if trying to make him more aware of them than he already was.

“What would you be willing to pay?”

_Anything. I’d do anything you asked._

“Beg me to let your face between my legs, Samson.”

“ _Please, oh Maker, please_ ” he whispered to the silent prison cart. The looming pleasure released like a flood and it left him heaving. He rode out the aftershocks, weakly pumping and twisting, but his bones felt weak, his muscles non-existent. Samson leaned back against the rotting wood, letting the cum cool on his fingers. The phantom Inquisitor had vanished, but the grip she had on his insides remained, the want in his gut not settling in the slightest. It had become more ravenous, if that were possible, richer in its power than any lyrium he’d tasted. A need that had since become secondary. Samson was no longer one for absolute worship, if he had ever been, but for her…

If there ever existed a church in her name, Samson would be her most faithful disciple.

 


End file.
